


I've got You (for that)

by OnlyZouzou



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bellamy Blake is Hot, But with sex, Canon Universe, Clarke Griffin is Gorgeous, Episode: s04e03 The Four Horsemen, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Smut, the list scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26177662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyZouzou/pseuds/OnlyZouzou
Summary: It hadn't been easy to choose the first 98 people who would survive Praimfaya, or at least not as easy as it had been to write Bellamy's name in front of the number 99 on that same list.Now, there is only one place left, the 100th, and Clarke wonders if she deserves to keep breathing. Luckily, Bellamy has no doubt about it and is going to show her why her name should be written just below his.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 26
Kudos: 156





	I've got You (for that)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I know that this iconic scene has already been rewritten at least 102 times, but I felt the need to add my contribution.
> 
> Many thanks to my lovely Penguin & Pris (I'll have to get a P nickname for myself too, just so I can say "the power of three" *charmed joke*) for being so supportive. And of course to my precious Lili, who reread and corrected all this fiction in English. I don't know what I would do without the three of you! ILY!

99.

If each name written on this list breaks Clarke's heart a little further, the feeling that is overwhelming her right now is like no other. 

She had chosen the best engineers, the best doctors, the best farmers, the best fighters. She had done her best to properly balance the number of women and men who were going to make it. She had thought about all the variables: from the future reproduction of the human species to the medical data she consulted from files sometimes so dusty that they were almost unreadable. Once again, Clarke used her head and put her heart aside. The list was perfect, although so many of her friends were not on it.

But this time— _This time_ , as she lets her eyes rest on Bellamy's silhouette, sleeping on the sofa of the Chancellor's office, it's her head that she silences as she lets her heart take control. 

Her gaze caresses the curves and plains of his body, mesmerized. Bellamy has never looked as young and relaxed as when he's asleep. But Clarke knows how to read his features, the marks, scars, and dark circles that hardships have left on him. They are the ones that make him much more mature than his true age; the same ones that made her responsible for writing this list although she hasn't yet turned twenty.

The young woman takes a short breath and, without further hesitation, writes the name of the most important person in her life. 

Bellamy Blake. 

It is not about what he deserves. Clarke doesn't care about the mistakes of the past and how he's desperately trying to fix them. She doesn't care about all the things he's able to bring to the group, no matter how good he is or the flaws she knows too well to ignore. 

_No_. 

Clarke's hand traces the curls of his first name and then his last name, gently, tenderly. _There_ . For once— for the first time, surely, this is only about what she _wants_ . Selfishly. Cowardly, perhaps. Because Clarke can't imagine a world, a universe, a _future_ , where Bellamy Blake doesn't exist. 

Once the lines have been drawn and engraved forever, she releases the breath she unknowingly held. A weight she didn't know she bore lifts from her shoulders tensed by responsibility. This lightness, however, only invades her for a few seconds, just enough time for her to look down at the next number.

100.

Her throat closes. Is Clarke supposed to put her name there? The space beneath Bellamy's gives a new perspective to the emotions submerging her. Under this new light, she understands that the feeling that pulls at her heart at this moment is envy. Yeah, Clarke wants to put her name on that list. She wants to survive with the people she loves. Unfortunately, that yearning isn't enough. 

Yet the arguments are simple and resoundingly logical: she is young, healthy, emotionally stable (or at least as much as circumstances allow). She has no family medical history. She was trained to be a doctor by her mother, knew about engineering from her father, and was first in her class in every subject in which Wells didn't push her to second place. She has been and still is the leader of her people, whether they like it or not, and has always been able to play well in politics and make allies where before there were only enemies. 

In theory, Clarke has earned her spot among the hundred people who will survive this second apocalypse. In practice though, she can't bring herself to put her name on it. It's not that she thinks she doesn't deserve her place, but why would she deserve it more than Harper, Monty, Jasper, or anyone else working so hard right now to repair the Ark for what they believe is the survival of all?

Suddenly, it's too much. The weight that had lifted off of her shoulders a minute earlier comes crashing down on her with all its might, and the young woman almost bends under its assault. Tears begin to flow from her blue eyes and she lets go of the pen when her hand shakes too much to hold it firmly. She feels nauseous, sick... like she's going to vomit or faint, or—

Clarke doesn't know how she guesses that Bellamy has woken up because he doesn't make a sound as he gets up from the couch and walks to the desk where she's sitting. Perhaps it's simply the fact that she's always so aware of his presence near her and the silent comfort he is always willing to give her. He approaches quietly and she looks up at him. His peaceful expression disappeared with his sleep. Instead, a deep concern creases his features and deepens the lines between his eyebrows. He doesn't even ask a question, doesn't even say a word. He simply looks down at the list Clarke wrote and quickly scans it with his dark gaze. 

Clarke understands that it's not his own name he's looking for as his brown eyes catch it in front of the number 99. The surprise overlaps with the worry on his face, but he continues to read the sheet of paper for a few seconds until-

"If I'm on that list, you're on that list."

Of course, it was her name that he was searching for. Of course, he's convinced that she has to survive just as she's sure that he has to keep living. Of course, he would fight every one of her arguments like she herself objected when he suggested that he wouldn't be inside the Ark when Praimfaya would hit that very morning. 

"Bellamy— I can't."

His tone is firm and resolute when he replies:

"Write it down. Write it down, or I will."

The tears that Clarke had hastily wiped from her eyes when he approached now flowing down her cheeks and Bellamy gulps slowly in front of her dismay.

"Why?", she manages to ask between two strangled sobs. "Why do I deserve to survive more than one of our friends? More than a father or a mother, a daughter or a son, a husband or a wife?"

Her heart breaks again at the thoughts of the families she was forced to separate by writing some names on paper and crossing others off. How many children had she orphaned? How many parents did she separate from their offspring? How many couples had she divided? How selfish she was, unable to do what she forces on others! Just as unable at saying goodbye to the person she loves than she is at confessing that she is, indeed, in love with him. 

"Tell me one thing. Why did you write my name on the list?" Bellamy asks.

Clarke swallows slowly, painfully, thinking about how she's going to answer this question. No fear, no panic, no shame overwhelms her when she makes her decision and utters the words she has been holding back for so long.

"Because I love you."

The shock is so strong for Bellamy that she can hear his gasp from where she's sitting. His brown eyes widen in confusion before filling with emotions that she struggles to read as much as he seems to struggle to grasp what she has just confessed. For a few seconds, he stands there, motionless, until he finally seems to come back to himself. She watches his lips open slightly in a breath as he whispers :

"What did you just say?"

Suddenly, Clarke too seems to have trouble getting her breathing back. She, who was so calm and determined a minute earlier, now hesitates, wondering if she has made the right choice to follow her heart in this way for perhaps the first time since her arrival on Earth. 

Nevertheless, there is no turning back now.

"I can't lose you, Bellamy. And I won't. Even if I don't survive Praimfaya, I—"

He doesn't let her continue, runs a hand through his chaotic hair before interrupting her, stubborn even in the middle of the declaration she clumsily tries to make.

"What did you just say, Clarke?" he repeats.

The young woman smiles in spite of herself at the shock that doesn't seem to leave him, and wonders whether she should play innocent, transform her words so as to pass them off as a deep friendship, the kind of platonic love that has no consequence, then finally decides to let (once again) her heart speak, even if it may break.

"I love you, Bellamy." Then, in case he still has any doubts: "I'm in love with you."

The young man's jaw locks in an expression that mimics anger, but doesn't reach the warm, gleaming look he's giving her.

"What about Niylah?"

Once again, the answer is easy.

"She's not you."

The walls Bellamy has carefully built around his heart are crumbling, she sees it in his dark eyes. However, he still seems to resist, and Clarke can only blame herself for protecting him so well that he can't even believe her when she finally confesses that she's in love with him... 

"I thought love was a weakness?" 

His deep, low voice trembles slightly from the emotion behind his last question. Clarke understands he's not trying to hurt her, but those words and the memories they carry with them will always cause her the pain of losing Lexa all over again. 

She chooses her next words carefully.

"No, it's not. _You_ are my strength."

So, what, now? Now that the words are spoken and the proof is there, lying on paper in front of number ninety-nine, now that he knows that the love she feels for him is what matters most to her... what happens now? 

On the contrary of what she dreaded, the world doesn’t collapse around them when she said the words she feared the most. And Bellamy is still there, standing straight and motionless in front of her, expression frozen and indecipherable. The only reason that Clarke isn't shaking in her bones at this moment is that she's sure that the young man loves her too. The only thing she doesn't know yet is the extent of his love for her. That's exactly what she would like Bellamy to clarify, now that she's silent. Unfortunately, he remains quiet and unmoving.

"Bellamy?" she calls at the same time he finally opens his mouth to ask "Why now?".

No need to think about her answer, it comes easily to her. Her hands are steady, her heart beats with an unfailing assurance, all her thoughts are shouting to her how right this moment is, how genuine, how perfect even in its total imperfection.

"Because I'm not afraid anymore."

And because Clarke wants to look Bellamy in the eye, reach out, even hug him if he lets her, she finally gets up from her chair. When she can finally align her gaze with his, she realizes that the glow in his deep, dark eyes wasn't, as she thought, the shimmering reflections of the room's dimly lit lights, but rather contained tears ready to be shed.

It's stronger than her, stronger than any instinct. She moves one hand forward gently, to let it rest on the one Bellamy has put on the desk and still not moved. She feels it trembling slightly under her touch. With her thumb, the young woman tenderly rubs his knuckles and gives him time to return to reality, to put his ideas and emotions in order. 

After almost a full minute, he exhales a long breath before whispering:

"Well, _I_ am afraid."

This time it's Clarke's blue eyes that fill with tears as Bellamy suddenly shows his unexpected vulnerability to her. She knows she's one of the few, perhaps even the only one, to whom he reveals this part of himself so easily, and she is fully aware of the precious gift he is offering her. She promises herself at this moment that she will do her best to be forever worthy of it. 

She tenderly presses his hand into hers when she whispers :

"I've got you."

How he instantly switches from the rawest of fragility to the fiercest passion, Clarke has no idea. Suddenly, the water in his onyx gaze evaporates as flames erupt into his dark eyes. The young woman barely has time to see their golden reflection, that already, the desire that fuels them consumes her with its intensity.

However, this burn is nothing compared to the fire of Bellamy's hands coming to capture her face, nothing compared to the scorching of his lips on hers. Each caress of his mouth dancing on hers, and, when she slightly tilts her head and finally allows him access, each touch of his tongue on her lower lip, of his tongue mingled with hers, is a firebrand that inflames her and sets them both ablaze to the limit of what is bearable. And if kissing Bellamy Blake turns out to be beyond anything she imagined during the nights spent chasing a quiet sleep that would never come, Clarke is flooded by the urge that overwhelms her at that moment. One kiss isn't enough, will never be enough. It's this realization that causes her to slow their frantic pace until she interrupts it. 

Bellamy seems to instantly grasp her change of mood, and although the passion still devours them both, a serene calm suddenly reigns as the brown of his eyes meets the blue of hers. As Bellamy's powerful hands slide from Clarke's face to her shoulders and then from her shoulders to wrap themselves around her waist, a shiver suddenly runs down her back where his fingers have stroked her spine. As always, he reads through her as if in an open book, immediately perceiving the immensity of the abyss that opened under their feet the moment their lips met. The love that binds them has no end. Nothing will stop their fall now that they have both taken the first step into the unknown. And the only thing that reassures Clarke at this moment, faced with the infinity of what she feels, is that Bellamy is right there with her.

"I've got you too," he whispers then, so much in tune with her thoughts that it's almost frightening. 

Clarke can only nod, her eyes fixed on Bellamy's lips as he says the very words she needed to hear. Their fingers intertwine as she moves closer to lay a light kiss on his mouth. He sighs and his warm breath makes her head spin. She frees her hands from the hold of his to wrap her arms around his neck so the world stops dancing around her. When their mouths crash into each other again and the dizzying fall resumes, they are no longer scared. They are here for each other, holding each other, supporting each other. 

Bellamy's hands on her body build delicious sensations in her lower abdomen, from the simple touch of his nails on her skin to the more intense pressure of his palms. When his fingers play gently with the hem of her shirt, she breaks off their kiss, softly rubs her nose against the edge of his to give her permission, and raises her arms in the air. The few seconds during which the cloth passes over her face and interrupts the contact of their lips is a torment, so much so that when the shirt is finally removed, thrown to the ground like a vulgar rag, she can't help but bring Bellamy's face to hers in a kiss that is even more passionate than the previous ones and which would have lasted longer if it had only been up to her. 

However, the young man seems to have other plans, judging by the way he grabs her by the waist to sit her on the desk. She laughs and lets herself be carried along, guessing his own smile, hidden in the hollow of her neck, where his kisses intensify. She stops giggling as Bellamy's burning, calloused hands move from her waist to her belly, dance on her ribs, fly over her chest. And if his hands go up, his lips go down gently, too gently, gently enough so that each kiss becomes delicious torture she swears she can no longer live without. 

Bellamy, on the other hand, seems to have found in the taste of her skin a new flavor that he craves and that he knows he will never get enough of. Possessed, he kisses her lips. From his mouth, he then passes under her ear. From below her ear, to that oh-so-sensitive spot on her neck, where the skin is so thin she's convinced he can feel her blood drumming to the rhythm of her heartbeat. From her neck, above her shoulder, across her trapezius muscle to the acromion, the bone at the end of her shoulder. With the tip of his nose, he slides the strap of her bra, then puts a kiss on the red mark left by the too-tight underwear, before directing his lips to her collarbone. Then, from the collarbone to her heart, which is still beating wildly, then further down to her cleavage. 

When his lips and hands meet, it's to better lower the cup of her bra and free her left breast from its cage made of fabric. With his thumb, he strokes the erect nipple before dropping a light kiss on it, which immediately contrasts with the touch that follows, from his mouth, enveloping, strong, intense. 

Clarke lets out a loud sigh as this touch brings sparks behind her closed eyes and tingling throughout her entire body, but especially much, much lower. With her hands, she tries to cling to reality, but can only find the collar of Bellamy's shirt and the curls of his hair. It's the young man's turn to sigh when she pulls slightly on the brown strands and Clarke shivers with pleasure at the idea of the sensations she can now offer him through this new and unexpected intimacy. 

She can barely feel him reach behind her back with one hand to unhook her bra. It's only when the underwear slips off the arm she didn't release from Bellamy's shoulder that she realizes she's now half-naked in front of him. She doesn't have time to feel the slightest self-consciousness, however, that already, her companion's hands are reaching for her chest while his face descends into her generous cleavage, depositing a thousand exquisite kisses on her breasts.

"You're so beautiful... So perfect..."

It's this sentence, whispered in the hollow of her skin, which takes away any shyness she might have possessed. If Bellamy is stunning in her eyes, from his brown curls to the freckles that powder his skin, to his expressive ember gaze, not to mention his body sculpted in stone, there is no doubt that she seems flawless to his. And if his words hadn't been enough, what she feels hardening and growing between the young man's thighs as she rocks against him in search of the friction her body has been desperately seeking since the moment his hands have touched her naked skin, seems to be a fairly accurate indicator of his longing for her and the effect she is having on him. 

Again, she presses her hips against his body, hoping to convey the message of what she now wants. The message is more than received, based on Bellamy's moaning and the way his own hips meet hers. 

"I need you to take this off," Clarke whispers in his ear. 

This time he makes no attempt to hide the bright smile that makes his dark eyes shine. When he looks at her, the only other thing Clarke can read on his face, apart from the irrepressible desire that possesses them both, is the perfect happiness that envelops them at that moment. And if the young woman thought that something was impossible just a few weeks before the end of the world, it was to feel so happy, so alive. 

"I knew you were going to be like this," Bellamy answers without letting go of her eyes while pushing back with his fingertips the long blond hair tangled in front of her blue eyes.

"How?" 

"Challenging. Bossy. Eager."

If he hadn't punctuated every word with a kiss from his lips on her breasts, Clarke might have taken it the wrong way. But the thrill that accompanies every touch of his mouth makes her incoherent and completely powerless to blame him for anything. Finally, her partner's mouth closes on her left nipple and Clarke loses all sense of reality. When he releases it, she barely has time to catch her breath before he moves to the other one. The sigh she hears from herself at this moment even impresses her but it's not like she could help herself. 

When she's nothing more than a bundle of nerves in his hands, ready to do anything to get what she wants most, he stops his ministrations and brings her face close to his own. There, his nose rubs the tip of hers and his mouth almost meets hers when he whispers:

"I knew you'd be like this, too."

She doesn't know where she finds the strength to ask:

"'...how?"

"Vulnerable. True. Perfect... _You_."

Clarke smiles back, moved by his words, but still aware that he's still far too overdressed compared to her. 

"I still want you to take this off," she says, raising her eyebrows and setting her hands on his belt buckle.

His lips are closed on her throat when he replies defiantly:

"Take it off yourself."

Clarke doesn't need to get told twice. She pushes Bellamy back a few steps, just enough to give herself space to get off the desk, and stands in front of him. First, she takes off the belt he wears to carry his radio and his gun every day and puts them on the desk behind her. Then, she goes to work on his trouser buttons, which she slowly undoes under the bright gaze of Bellamy, who doesn't take his eyes off her. 

The way he looks at her... Like she's the most beautiful, most attractive, most desirable thing he has ever seen in his life, fills her with a confidence she didn't realize she had, a confidence she knows how to show in the negotiations of her everyday life, but that she didn't know she could have in a moment like this. Bellamy's gaze on her makes her feel worshipped. 

And what better way to return that feeling than by kissing him? The lust that drives her at that second causes them to take a few steps back, and as Bellamy's undone pants slide down his waist to his knees, the back of his legs hit the chair Clarke was sitting in a few minutes earlier - in another life, it seems. Except that the young man is so focused on his partner's dancing lips that he stumbles, clumsily catches himself before crashing into the chair, taking Clarke with him when neither of them wants to break their contact. 

"Wait, wait," he manages to whisper between kisses. 

Bellamy helps her up while he sits in the chair and she watches him hurriedly remove his shoes and socks. She takes hers off too before she helps him get the rest of his pants off. He lets out a little scream as the backs of Clarke's fingers touch the soles of his feet and she laughs at the fact that he's ticklish, surprised by this new and improbable knowledge that fills her with unexpected joy.

It's a fact, she loves to learn new things about Bellamy. And she definitely wants to know more. His favorite color (she thinks it's blue if she can trust the way he refused to part with his old t-shirt), his favorite poem (most likely one by Ovid or maybe Homer, given his passion for ancient myths), what he prefers to eat (he was a meat fanatic during their first days on Earth, but nothing ever brought as much happiness on his face as the taste of an apple on his lips) and in what position he likes to sleep (she hopes to find out the answer to this last question very, very soon).

Clarke's heart skips a beat when the young man draws her in by the belt between his legs, and literally melts into her chest as he lays his head against her and wraps his powerful arms around her body in an overwhelming embrace of vulnerability. She ties her own around his neck, closes her eyes, and drags the moment a few seconds longer than she thought possible with that throbbing desire that pierces her insides with every breath and drowns her thoughts in a torrent of "I need you, I want you, now…"

"God, me too, Clarke—"

Whoops, maybe she said that out loud without realizing it. And maybe she would apologize for her impatience if Bellamy's eyes in hers didn't shine with the same want that, repressed at the time of this calm and peaceful embrace, comes back tenfold the moment he detaches himself from her and undoes the loop of the young woman's pants. It slides down her hips and legs as Bellamy's burning hands wander over her newly naked skin. She pulls up one of her knees and he frees her ankle from the grip of her jeans. With his fingertips, he pats her other thigh and she does the same with her right leg, only instead of letting her foot rest on the floor once the garment has fallen nonchalantly to the ground, Bellamy holds it on his thigh. There, he lays a kiss on her knee, then caresses his way from the tip of his nose to the inside of her leg, where he presses his lips again before nibbling lightly, tearing a sigh out of Clarke's mouth. 

Luckily, the young woman kept her hands on his shoulders because that's all that keeps her standing at this moment. That, and Bellamy's fingers, firm and demanding on her legs and on her hips. The next kiss he puts on her naked skin is right at the junction of her underwear and her thigh and makes her sway on her heels. It's on her ass this time that he rests his palms to keep her steady. Without removing his mouth from where she is, he whispers: "Careful, Princess", and his hot breath burns, burns, and burns— so close to where she would like to feel his mouth the most. 

It's the tip of his nose, again, that begins its exploration and touches her clit already gorged with desire. Bellamy can surely feel her arousal from where he is, judging by the way his hands tighten on the curves of her ass as he breathes in. His fingers slide under the elastic of the garment and start to slowly lower it.

"I can't wait to put my mouth on you..."

His voice, usually so strong and steady, is racked by the heat that devours him. His tone is deep and gravelly, even half-muffled by the garment so close to his mouth. Clarke shudders at his words and her hands run from the young man's muscular shoulders to his brown curls, to hold him back or bring him closer, she doesn't even know, overwhelmed by the vision that her far overly graphic creative spirit conjures up behind her closed eyelids. 

Her grey panties at one of her ankles, Bellamy's face buried between her thighs, one hand on her bare ass, the other lost between her legs, a finger, or perhaps even more, slipped into her pussy as she clung to his hair, her head tilted back in pleasure, a silent cry on her lips. Clarke comes almost instantly at the image, even though he hasn't actually touched her yet. That's when she decides that if she definitely wants his mouth on her in the near future, it's not what she wants most at that moment. 

Bellamy protests when she tugs at his brown hair to lift his head, but Clarke silences him by crushing her lips over his, then promptly pushing her tongue inside his mouth. The only thing he then lets out is a sigh and a groan and Clarke smiles in their kiss just before his powerful hands push her further against him. The chair he's sitting on is big enough for her to slide each of her legs on either side of his thighs, and when he pushes her lower back and brings her lower abdomen to press against his erection, the sensations of this new friction cause sparks to fly behind their closed eyelids in an explosion of pleasure. And this pleasure does not decrease, what came and went by waves one minute before doesn't cease instead increasing and increasing, with each movement of Bellamy's fingers on her almost naked body, with each pressure of Clarke's lips in her companion's neck. The latter plays with her shapes and sculpts them under his hands as if she were nothing more than clay to be modeled as he wants, and if the way he shapes her hips or grazes her breasts is indicative of his obsession, she knows she will never be able to complain about it. 

It's only when he brings his lips close to one of her nipples that she realizes that the feeling that has been bothering her all this time is the sensation of the t-shirt Bellamy is still wearing. Although she has long since started to slip her hands under the tan fabric, it's not enough. Clarke wants to wander her fingers over his chest, nipping, kissing, and licking the dark skin, just like he touches her, leaving the imprint of his teeth and lips on the thin skin of her neck and breasts.

The young woman lets him know by pulling on his collar and Bellamy follows the movement, letting go of her breasts for a second, just long enough to raise his arms and let her do the job herself. Clarke has barely passed the garment over the young man's head before his mouth has found its way back to her breast, more demanding than ever. His tongue turns, precise and determined on her nipple, rendered sensitive by his repeated surges, and the pleasure strikes her crotch in a delicious flurry of thrills that causes her to rock against Bellamy's. Again he moans, more loudly than she could have guessed him capable of, and she wonders if she, too, could make him scream as he will certainly make her if he continues to read her thoughts and move, breathe or touch her exactly as she wishes. Like the pressure he's putting on her lower back again, the way he rocks his hips to meet hers, the way his lips kiss and suck at her neck while his hand lightly pinches her other nipple. 

Clarke is sure of it, it's the loud moan she gives then that makes him suddenly get up from the chair they were sitting in, almost melted into each other. And if she could swear that she hadn't once dreamed that he would be able to carry her across the room like that, she can't deny that she had already noticed the strength of his powerful arms several times, even during their first days on Earth, when what he was lifting then consisted of tree trunks and pieces of metal parts from their dropship. Now, he effortlessly carries her, while continuing to press his lips to hers. Clarke's legs, like her arms, are wrapped around him and she feels him hesitating after two steps in front of him, guessing that, just like her, he doesn't know where to start.

The possibilities are dizzying, and as her mind visualizes each one of them, want rises in her in successive waves. She could lower his boxer shorts, just enough to release his hard-on, and slip her panties to the side before lowering herself onto him. He could set her down on the desk, rip off her underwear just before turning her and bending her over the table to take her from behind. He could carry her to one end of the room, show off his strength by keeping hold of her in his arms while he fucks her against the wall.

Bellamy doesn't choose any of these options, although she's sure they'll be trying all of them (and more) in the coming hours and days if given the time. But, the most suitable wall for such a session is too far away for the patience that eludes them as their passion grows. The desk is a big no. This is where she has just chosen who was going to live and die, this is where she cried a few moments earlier, unable to write her name on that damn list, but just as unable to imagine him surviving when she would no longer be there. The couch seems to be the best choice at this moment and that's where Bellamy takes her while covering her with kisses. Clarke has to admit, she could make love to him on the floor and it would surely be the best sex she ever had in her life. 

Just like on the chair earlier, Bellamy sits on the couch and she straddles him again. It's time to put into action the short vision that had entered her mind earlier, she thought to herself as she moves her hand from her partner's neck to his boxers. When Clarke's fingers find his dick, over the fabric, he sighs. So she goes immediately under the garment, using her wrist to lower the cloth as she closes her fingers around him. Precum is already leaking and she uses it to begin a steady motion. The only thing she wants at this moment is to listen to Bellamy moaning again, and that's done within seconds, even if he tries to bury it in the depths of her breasts. 

"I want to hear you," she tells him, her breath stuttering, as she continues her gentle torture along his length. 

This time, his brown eyes are straight into hers as the movement of her hand rips out his next moan. He closes his eyelids, abandoning his caresses on her body, as if unable to continue to think clearly about anything other than Clarke's hand on him and her lips in his neck. His palms are steady and warm on her waist, his fingers grasping her shapes, squeezing a little harder when she suddenly runs her thumb over the tip of his cock. 

"Sensitive much?" she asks, teasingly, making him open his eyelids and smiling devilishly.

"As if you weren't too," he replies just before lowering his whole palm over the young woman's cunt and cupping it. 

Now it's Clarke's turn to close her eyes and whimper. 

Then more serious and suddenly emotional:

"It's just that— I've wanted this for so long..." 

She reopens her blue eyes, staring into the chocolate of his own.

"Me too."

Bellamy's lips meet hers again and Clarke can taste on his tongue all the promises his heart is making hers. Promises to never abandon her, never fail her, never hurt her. These are the same promises that she seals in her mind for him and him alone.

She takes off his boxers with trembling hands, suddenly nervous, and he helps her by lifting his hips off the couch. Then she stands in front of him and slowly pulls down her own underwear, inch by inch. Clarke takes her time. Not because she's shy all of a sudden, or maybe a little bit, but because Bellamy's gaze on every ounce of ivory skin she reveals is addictive. The show can't last forever, though. When the garment is tossed aside and they finally find themselves both naked, Bellamy's smile is absolutely stunning.

"Come here," he asks, taking Clarke's hand in his and drawing her against him. 

The young man's hands wrap around her waist again while hers curl behind the back of his neck in the long strands that rub against his skin just there. She puts a kiss on his forehead and he, of course, one on each of her breasts.

"Gorgeous..." he whispers in her cleavage, and his warm breath sends a shiver down her back, where his fingers graze the skin along her spine.

" _You're_ gorgeous," she replies with a smile.

When he lifts his head towards her and crosses her gaze, his eyes are much more vulnerable than what they're supposed to be when faced with a compliment that is such a defining feature of Bellamy. In fact, he seems so shy, suddenly, that Clarke thinks maybe no one has ever told him how beautiful he really is.

"You _are_ ," she insists, running her thumbs over his cheeks, where the freckles she is dying to count lie in dozens, evoking the deep, warm color of his brown eyes. 

Her fingers glide over the scar on his upper lip, just before laying a tender, light kiss on it, which deepens as Bellamy sighs on her mouth, just when she wanders her palms over his muscular and so perfectly drawn shoulders that she wants to grab a pencil and put them down on paper, and then along his arms, arms in which she has never felt so protected and, although he hasn't yet said the words, never felt so—

"I love you, Clarke," he says at that very moment.

It seems like Bellamy really does read her mind.

The young woman's gaze is immersed in the warmth of his when he says, just in case there could still remain the slightest doubt:

"I'm in love with you."

The ensuing kiss is messy as their lips are more busy smiling than pressing against each other. Bellamy's hands are shaking when they drop from her waist to the curve of her ass, applying just the right amount of pressure to pull her to him. This time, when for the third time tonight, she moves each of her legs on either side of him, there's no tissue to get in the way of their sensations. Clarke gasps when his cock rubs against her folds, pressing against her clit in the process. 

"I need you," she whispers in the shell of his ear, and kisses his neck and then his shoulder, following with her mouth the shiver that her warm breath has created on his dark complexion or maybe those goosebumps were caused because of her words.

Bellamy's hands guide Clarke by the hips as she slowly lowers herself onto his dick. She is so wet already that he slides into her with baffling ease. They both moan at this new intimacy and the pleasure she feels blinds her for a few seconds. She stills, dazed by its suddenness and intensity. Bellamy must believe she needs a moment to adjust to his size, because he remains perfectly still under her, holding his own breath. 

Except that Clarke doesn't need to adjust to anything. She just knows that she needs to slow down a bit if she doesn't want to reach her peak in less time than it takes to say it. She knows very well that a woman can have several orgasms in a row, thank you very much. She was an apprentice doctor, after all. It's just that she hasn't experienced it other than by her own hands yet and what she wants above all is to slow down, and for this moment to never stop, even if deep down, she knows it's a foolish wish.

"Everything's okay?" Bellamy asks then. 

The young woman nods, unable to form coherent words and erases the worried crease between his eyebrows with the tip of her thumb before setting her lips against his one more time. When she moves again, the pleasure is the same, but this time she can't resist, can't stop. Quickly, her hands find support on his chest before slipping to his defined shoulders and— _damn_ , she definitely has a thing for his shoulders, in the same way he seems to have a thing for her breasts, judging by the way his hands knead her boobs, kissing her tits between two deep "gorgeous, so beautiful, perfect". 

Unexpectedly, Bellamy's praises increase her want tenfold. That said, she always has a soft spot for his voice and his low, gravelly tone that rolls over her skin like thunder on a stormy sky.

_He could be reading the Iliad to her and it would have the same effect_ , she tries to convince herself while riding him at an eager pace that makes stars appear behind her closed eyes.

Suddenly, Bellamy releases a growl, followed by a curse and a "You're incredible, Clarke," which causes the young woman to scream in pleasure the second she hears it. 

Okay, she may have a thing for his praise, as well as one for his voice (and shoulders) but what do you expect, it's Bellamy Fucking Blake.

To say that her orgasm takes Clarke by surprise would be a lie. She could feel it rising and rising from the moment Bellamy grabbed her by the waist and sat her down on the desk to kiss her. She knew it wouldn't be long before she reached her climax. Nevertheless, _her orgasm does take her by surprise_ . She thought she was in control of her own body, but she realized she wasn't at all when one of Bellamy's hands clutches one of her hips, while the fingers of the other one reach for her breast and his lips close on her nipple. His teeth nibble on her skin with the same fervor his fingers grip her curves everywhere they can. She lowers herself one last time on his cock and _Oh!_ she feels herself contract at the same time as sparks explode in the pit of her stomach. Bellamy helps her ride her orgasm by meeting her hips every time she lowers hers and Clarke moans loudly. If no one in Arkadia hears her screams, she probably owes it to her partner who muffles their sound by swallowing them, his lips pressed to hers, their breath and tongues mixing in a languid kiss. 

Then, she blacks out. There's no other way to describe it. When Clarke comes back to the moment, it's under Bellamy's gentle strokes on the skin of her arms, her neck, her shoulders, and through the long blonde curls hanging over her back. She soon realizes, however, that while she has abandoned herself to pleasure, he hasn't yet. He's still very much hard inside of her. She moves a little and her movements draw a sigh from Bellamy, who tightens the grip of his hands on her waist. Embarrassed at how selfish she has been, she bites her lower lip and tries a light:

"Well, that was fast..."

"It was mostly very sexy," he replies, smiling.

It's absurd, but she has no idea what she's supposed to do now. But if there's one person she can be honest with and express her doubts to, it's Bellamy.

"Do you want to... carry on?" she asks, shyer at this moment than at any other before.

Bellamy raises an eyebrow.

"Do I want to carry on making love with the woman I've been dreaming of for months? Let me think..."

The statement makes her cheeks turn red and she taps him lightly on the chest where he keeps her hand captive above his heart. Then, as always, he sees right through her.

"What is it, Clarke?"

She swallows and stares at their overlapping hands, concentrates on the quiet, steady beat of Bellamy's heart under her palm, lets herself be soothed by the absent circles he draws with his fingers on her lower back before answering, more vulnerable than ever.

"I just... I don't know if I can... you know... a second time."

He doesn't respond. He knows how to stay silent when he feels Clarke has more to say, which she does a second later.

"I don't know if I can do this. It's never happened before."

After a silence, she feels Bellamy's fingers lingering on her cheek to raise her chin so their eyes meet. His brown eyes sparkle with happiness and playfulness, reminding her of the expression he had on their first (and only) Unity Day on Earth.

"Sounds like a challenge," he whispers.

Of course, Bellamy Blake, the man who had her back on Unity Day, the man who volunteered to infiltrate Mount Weather, the man who kept her safe while she walked through the City of Light, the man who was there for her every difficult decision, that man never shies away from a challenge.

He regains his seriousness by sliding his hand from Clarke's cheek to her neck, then from her neck to the top of her breasts, before passing, light as a feather, between her two breasts and slowly sneaking his path on her stomach, over her navel, and then, lower. When he cups his hand onto her cunt, the heat released by his skin triggers a shiver throughout the young woman's body. She feels herself briefly squeeze around her partner's still hard cock. He groans and Clarke closes her eyes under the unexpected sensations. 

When she reopens her eyelids, she meets Bellamy's tender gaze.

"I've got you," he says once again, a promise for this new page of their story that they are writing with four hands. "I've got you," he still murmurs in her neck, covering her skin with kisses.

Clarke lets go under his expert hands and lips. She has never felt more confident than at this very moment, when she's at her most vulnerable, totally exposed in front of the man she loves, in every sense of the word. 

Quickly, her body wakes up again, more sensitive and alive than ever, although it usually seems to shut down permanently after the first orgasm, like a switch that would have been turned OFF. Under Bellamy's sure and electrifying touches, the want that previously burned her strikes again. It's as if her pleasure, rather than soothing her lust for the young man, had only increased it tenfold. As if, after having been satisfied, it was only asking for more, now hungrier than ever. Clarke knew— she _knew_ , that once she'd had a taste of him, there would be no turning back. Nevertheless, she had no idea how true this would prove to be.

After a few minutes of riding him, she feels the young man's hips rising more and more firmly and with increasing intensity. Each movement of his crotch against hers tears her a little scream that seems to drive Bellamy crazier and crazier, until finally, with a flowing movement of his strong arms, he shifts her on her back against the sofa. Her knees spread apart to make room for the young man to lie on top of her. With one hand, he grabs one of her legs to raise one of her knees, and his next thrust tears a cry from her that she cannot contain. 

After that, Bellamy seems to become a man on a mission, and Clarke surrenders completely to the feelings he offers her, giving as much as she gets. Her nails scratch the hard muscles of his back before sliding up to his scalp and he lets out a sigh that definitely makes her want to grab at his fury of brown curls. Bellamy's hand captures her breast to bring his lips to it while his other hand moves up along her raised arm before taking her hand in his and intertwining their fingers. His mouth flies over her other nipple. 

The feeling of his tongue and teeth is almost too much and once again Clarke feels herself falling, pushed right to the edge of the cliff as her body screams for a second release that it didn't think it'd get with a moan that resounds in the space around them.

"Let go, Clarke. I've got you..."

Bellamy seals his promise with a deep kiss and the pressure of his fingers, previously possessively placed on her breasts, on her clit. The small, firm and sharp circles he draws there, as well as the praises he murmurs against the column of her throat, sign her release. Clarke's entire form stills, a statue of bliss under the powerful body of her partner, who continues to move at a ruthless pace, just long enough for her to break into a thousand pieces of pleasure. Shattered, yet never as whole as at this very moment, in the embrace of the one she loves. The aftershocks around his cock seem to draw his orgasm. He lets go too, almost as loudly as she did a second earlier, his face hidden in her neck where his burning lips leave a mark that will probably still be there the next day, the hand that used to rub her clit now resting on one of her breasts.

This time, Clarke remains in the moment despite the intensity of her orgasm. She tenderly runs her hands through Bellamy's curls after removing the strands of hair stuck by sweat on his forehead. The young man has settled his head on her chest, his ear resting where her heart is still pounding, but calms down gently under the delicate strokes of his companion's fingers along her ribs. Their two breaths calm down almost simultaneously, to the rhythm of the kisses they trade, their tongues brushing against each other, their lips blending and separating on free and unburdened smiles. In this bubble of happiness, at that exact moment, when the musky scent of Bellamy and the sweet perfume of Clarke mix, nothing can happen to them. The weight of the difficult decisions they have had to make in the past, the people they have lost and the dangers to come remain outside this space as if pushed aside by this shared intimacy. 

However, the spell only lasts for a while. Once their hearts have calmed and their breathing has returned to normal, once the cold of the room has fallen back to their naked and intertwined bodies, reality comes back. It always does. 

Clarke suddenly shivers and Bellamy slips out of her before leaning over to grab a soft blanket from the side table next to them. Except that instead of returning to their embrace and covering both their bodies with the cloth, he gets up (giving her a view she'll remember and the immediate regret that she didn't take enough advantage of that butt), grabs his boxers before putting them on, and heads to the desk. There, he takes the black marker and the long list of 100— of the 99 names that caused her so much pain and doubt earlier. 

Clarke turns to the side to get a better look at him when he comes back to her and kneels down in front of the couch. Bellamy doesn't say a word. Focused, he flattens the sheet next to Clarke, removes the cap from the pen, and then, in front of the number 100, writes the young woman's name in capital letters just below his own. 

100 - CLARKE GRIFFIN

She doesn't even know how he knows how to spell her first and last names so perfectly. One "e" at the end of Clarke and two "f's" in Griffin. The young woman makes the silent promise to ask him later, at a more appropriate and less heavy time. Her blue eyes are filled with tears as he closes the pen and folds the list in four before putting them both on the table next to them. When he comes back to lie next to her under the blanket, she gives him room to lie down before snuggling up against his chest, into the embrace of his arms, already opened just for her. There, she lays her head against his chest and her blond waves stretch out over his olive skin like the rays of the sun against the sand of the desert.

"I won't let you die," Bellamy whispers, his voice shaken by the same emotion that is overwhelming her.

Clarke knows he's making a promise here that he will keep forever. After all, this is Bellamy Fucking Blake. So, she asks him the one question she desperately needs the answer to.

"You still have hope?"

He puts a kiss on her forehead and hugs her a little harder before answering, his gravelly voice now made quiet by their peaceful embrace:

"We're still breathing?"

Clarke's lips touch his heart tenderly just before her azure eyes close under the exhaustion that suddenly overtakes her. The last thing she hears is Bellamy watching over her as always.

"Get some sleep."

Only then, in his arms, with the steady thud of his heart and his breathing against her eardrums, does she find the calm necessary to finally rest. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please, Kudos and comments are always welcome! Let me know what you think!  
> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Zouzou


End file.
